I have been dipping and skimming on the surface of our local waters for years. I've fished the Willamette and the Clackamas among other rivers, floated the Big Float and have taken Portland Spirit's high-speed Outrageous Boat Tour. I have visited Herman the Sturgeon at Bonneville Dam so often I think he recognizes me, and I play fetch with my dog on the riverbanks every day. But I wanted to go deeper, so my husband and I decided to ride our 14-foot 1952 runabout boat from Portland almost to the sea.

Why almost? The mouth of the Columbia River is one of the most consistently hazardous waterways in the world. Shifting sands, sudden fog and wind work together to uphold its reputation as the "Graveyard of the Pacific." Prudence dictated that we haul out in Astoria, next to the Cannery Pier Hotel, where we would spend the night celebrating our journey.

View full sizeA boat is a perfect way to see the natural beauty of the Columbia River.Katherina Audley/Special to The Oregonian

We set out on a sunny Saturday with temperatures in the 90s. The Multnomah Channel, the narrow waterway separating Sauvie Island from the Oregon mainland, is a fisherman's delight. Every year, around early May, the channel is crowded with fishermen trolling for salmon. But on the day our journey began, the spring salmon run had ended, the steelhead weren't around and sturgeon season was winding down.

Mark's on the Channel, a floating restaurant in Scappoose, was abuzz with diners going nowhere over plates of sun-warmed hummus, every pant leg rolled up. Nudists jostled for space on Collins Beach on the east side of Sauvie Island.

When we rounded the tip of Sauvie Island to Warrior Rock, we encountered two-dozen

colorful kayaks, rentals from Scappoose Bay Kayaking Company. More than 200 years ago, Lewis and Clark came around this same bend and came face-to-face with 23 canoes of Native Americans in full war garb.

We had friends waiting for us on the dock at St. Helens where the city hall clock tower faces the water, a throwback to days when the river was what mattered. All 37 campsites on Sand Island Marine Park, a 31.7 acre island located a 5-minute paddle across the river from St. Helens, were bulging with campers, so we puttered off for Goat Island to pitch our tents. A gently sloping sandy beach, ample firewood and soft flat mossy spots under cottonwood trees make Goat Island camping perfection. When Lewis and Clark camped nearby in November 1805, they were kept awake by honking waterfowl and the cold, rainy weather. On our hot summer night, the songbirds in the trees only added to the ambience.

Our intention had been to dilly-dally. But talks with old salts had revealed too many stories that involved the phrase: "I almost died on The Columbia." Our motor was old, the boat older and there is more than one section on the Columbia named Cape Horn. We didn't want to find ourselves bucking the tide at the wrong bend when the wind came up.

So, to catch the outgoing tide, we decamped from Goat Island early in the morning, and dropped off our friends in St. Helens. Elephantine container ships swayed patiently in chains across the way, waiting to be filled with Northwest wood bound for places far away. Half-sunk fishing boats and crumbling canneries attested to a time when fishing was a huge industry here.

We shook off industry, civilization and the early hour by getting out of the main channel. A doe and her fawn swam from Sandy Island to shore. Wing dams and pilings served as perches to ospreys and bald eagles. I only saw one fisherman get lucky during our three days on the river, but I watched dozens of ospreys snatch dinner from the water. A pair of bald eagles tugged at a carcass in the brush. Cottonwood Island, Lord Island, Fisher Island, Crims and Wallace belonged to the raptors, thousands of songbirds and for lucky one afternoon, us.

Late afternoon, the river got bumpy and we grew hungry. We cruised up the Clatskanie River to find that Hump's Restaurant, a riverside restaurant in Clatskanie with a dock, closed in February 2012. If modern river travelers want to stave off hunger on the lower Columbia, it's wise to outfit themselves more like Lewis and Clark than day trippers.

We returned to a quieter Columbia, but wind and water funnels in front of Puget Island in a way that entices kite surfers and terrifies nervous small boaters like me. I gritted my teeth, bore down on the throttle and we got across the most dangerous stretch of the river still married and afloat.

Puget Island and the town of Cathlamet (established in 1846) are crawling with farmers with fresh eggs for sale and litters of lab puppies to play with. You can drive over a bridge from the Washington side to reach the island, but the better option is to take the last ferry on the lower Columbia River, which runs between the Oregon side of the river and Puget Island and only costs a few bucks to hop on board with your car. If you don't have time to wait for the ferry, you probably don't have enough time to appreciate the trading post charm that Puget Island and Cathlamet have retained.

Nature amps up the pretty right after Puget Island. The water tastes saltier and the landscape grows greener. Skamokawa, the village on the Lower Columbia that most captured my heart, sits in the sweet spot of all this natural beauty. Skamokawans no longer pull nets straining with fish by their doorsteps, but they continue to tend to the town and seem to compete with each other for the title of cutest inn with best breakfast.

Twin Gables B&B, a bed and breakfast built before the highway reached Skamokawa in 1930, fulfilled my riparian fantasy. It is possible to tie up to the dock by Twin Gables, or to drive there and rent a kayak from the nearby rental place and be a river person for the weekend. The innkeepers are fine cooks and offer great, locally-sourced meals to guests and boaters who call in advance.

View full sizeRub a Dub Dub makes it to Astoria and the end of our journey at the East Basin Marina.
Katherina Audley/Special to The Oregonian

Long shallow waterways twist and tangle like Rapunzel's hair en route to Astoria. The main river section splays out and gets choppier. We found out the hard way that the shifting sands around Miller Island make it a great place for kayaks and a bad one for motorboats. We sucked sand into our intake and wore out our arms pushing off the scholls in the middle of the river. Our motor coughed and threatened to quit just as we reached the channel, which is when we ran out of gas. As we drifted toward a buoy and changed fuel tanks, I eyed the herd of giant, deceptively fast and silent barges which looked like they were about to come stampeding down on us from under the Astoria-Megler Bridge.

The tide turned against us and we slammed against the chop, spewing a steady plume of black smoke. We couldn't make it to the West Basin Marina located next to our hotel but managed to slip in between a pair of huge freighters and tie up our mostly dead boat at the East Basin Marina.

Cape Disappointment. Hungry Harbor. Dismal Nitch. Local names spell out what a terrible time our predecessors had in and around the mouth of the Columbia. By contrast, our own lives became quite peachy as soon as we arrived. We caught the trolley that runs along the waterfront in Astoria to the Cannery Pier Hotel, checked into our room, complete with a fireplace, bathtub and complimentary bottle of champagne. After a bath, we dressed in our swanky hotel bathrobes and went out on the balcony to greet the river from above. Still swaying on sea legs, we listened to the sea lions bark, the boats rumble and toasted the the mighty river in gratitude for letting us through unharmed.

Katherina Audley lives and writes in Portland. Visit her website at kpetunia.com.